The Distant Whispers
The rain had been falling for three days, a steady, gray sheet that turned the cobblestones of the old quarter into a slick, reflective mirror of the world above. Elias Thorne stood behind the counter of his watch repair shop, the air thick with the scent of oil and damp wool, his fingers trembling slightly as he held the magnifying loupe to his eye. The shop was silent, save for the rhythmic...
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